


Free To Those That Can Afford It, Very Expensive To Those That Can’t

by thelivinggrim



Category: Line of Duty (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelivinggrim/pseuds/thelivinggrim
Summary: Dot's wife has taken him back and the gang attend a little extracurricular team-building bonding barbecue chez the newly reconciled love birds. But there are secrets and suspicions circling in the background..
Relationships: Matthew "Dot" Cottan/Kate Flemming, Matthew "Dot" Cottan/Original Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Free To Those That Can Afford It, Very Expensive To Those That Can’t

Steve was the last to arrive. He’d come on foot from the nearest bus stop and gotten turned around a few times in the warren of smug suburban opulence and identical dark asphalt driveways plastered with damp leaves that twisted away from the central road. The 3G on his phone kept slipping off and the evening was dimming beneath him so it was with a mixture of irritation and intense relief that he finally rang the bell at number 37 Grosvenor Mews.  
He stood back a little way, hands in his coat pockets, taking it in. Nice house. White stucco, big airy windows. Mature trees flanking it. Quite the gin palace. The money must be hers of course.  
He's landed on his feet, thinks Steve.   
He isn’t quite prepared for the woman who answers the door - the wife is called Maggie, he remembers Dot saying - in a cloud of charisma and perfume. Even though he knew they were back together, this place, this woman - it all seems improbable somehow in connection with the man who sits across a room from him every mundane tedious everyday day; who looks like a minor league football manager and even manages to stir his tea in an irritating way.  
The overall impression Steve gets of her is of softness: pale honey blonde hair (the fancy expensive kind of honey he thinks, how appropriate), voluptuous figure, soft long lashes, velvety skin with a beauty mark above her lip, and of her surprisingly low, husky, unexpectedly posh voice. There was something fluffy and indistinct about the edges of her, her big light hair and pale mohair cardigan, the curves of her body, like a sort of sexy cloud. She looked like she ought to be wearing a frothy babydoll nightie in a saucy seaside postcard. It shouldn't surprise really, thought Steve, it's the cliche isn't it. A man as tall and thin and angular as Dot, as barbed and sharp-tongued and sly. Some chippy dark-haired rat-faced beanpole? Of course he would almost have to have a wife like that, a big soft fluffy accommodating blonde of a wife, it's straight out of central casting.

He was led out to a conservatory, where Kate and the gaffer were already perched trying to look at ease on a litter of easy bamboo basket chairs, while the man himself was half reclining on one of the two long low white leather sofas. There were cork coasters atop a white wrought iron glass topped table, and more fiddly metal scrollwork, and some sort of half crumbled architectural looking pillar. Why on earth would you keep that indoors? Between the decor and the potted palms - and the loafing smirking old school buffoon ensconced in it - there was a sort of 70s playboy meets tiki lounge vibe via suburban Surrey. All a bit dated and a bit faded but expensive outright. You have to wonder how anyone would be enough of a fool to risk this meal ticket.  
Maggie sashayed in with a tray of drinks, her big hips swinging under her velvety dusky lilac-pink dress and Steve notices she has her wedding and engagement rings on, big proper stones and everything, so it must be back on then. Looking up at Dot as she bent low to place the tray on the table (bet he's getting an eyeful), she asked, in a slightly ditzy but also flirtatious manner,  
“Will you have all you need, if I head off now?" and grinning up at her, rueful and coquettish, he murmured  
“Yeahh, you get along darling, have a good time with the girls.”   
She wiggles over to him and, unseen - or tactfully ignored - for a moment he sinks his long fingers into the flesh of her hip.  
“There's more beers in the pantry fridge, Matt" she purrs.  
"I know. You run along now cream puff" he replies tenderly as he pulls her close to kiss her cheek.   
He’d like to kiss her properly, hard, shaking her with it.  
He wants to whisper, roughly, insinuatingly “You be a good girl now..”  
He wants to pull her into his lap.  
He really wants to slap that big arse as he watches her leave, taking a long slow meditative swig of his beer out of the corner of his mouth, his prominent adam’s apple bobbing in his long throat as he swallows.

Beside himself from trying not to laugh, or make eye contact with either of the others who are studiously overlooking this little display, Steve takes a hard pull on his beer that almost goes down the wrong way - ‘cream puff’! And the way he's pawing at her, mooning over her like a cuntstruck schoolboy.  
“I thought you and the missus were history Dot?" says Kate, a beat after the door has swung shut, her voice light, the first to break the tension.   
"What Margaret? Nah she couln’t keep away long."   
"And what does lady muck see in a barrow boy like you?" laughed Steve, amused and rankled by Dot's arrogance at the same time. I'll eat my Everton scarf if you've had your feet under the table more than a week. A month at the outside.   
But Dot was delighted to needle him back, "Mucky is right! Steve, don't tell me you of all people haven't experienced the wonders of being a bit of rough? Nothing like sticking it to and in our social betters at the same time."  
He winks at Kate in a way that makes her want to kick him in the shins. She thinks of the last place of his she visited, a pokey shitty little flat where he put his hand inside her knickers and brought her so quickly and so thoroughly to orgasm, shuddering and sobbing for him, against him, humiliated and bewitched by how easily he took her over, begging him, voice desperate, heartfelt, begging him for more, to fuck her, please Dot, oh fuck, please, now — She shakes her head to clear the thought, embarrassment slightly colouring her cheeks.  
She needn’t’ve worried about anyone noticing; Ted has gone a few shades pinker even than usual and in a tone at once self-consciously conciliatory and admonishing interjects, "Well that's marriage for you, it has it's ups and downs —“ he hurries on before Dot's grin can turn into anything more ribald and vocal "— of course when you're a married man yourself you'll have your own share of strife and reconciliation I dare say Steve." As if that puts a lid on it. Meeting adjourned.  
"Anyway I'm sure you didn't all come round to talk about my love life, as vigorous and delightful as it may be" smarmed Dot with the face of a man who'd be very happy to do just that for as long as anyone would listen.  
So she's just this moment taken you back and its all lovey dovey for now, thinks Steve. The prick's getting laid again at last and now he thinks he's the king of the world. Still. He's not on his guard, while he's preening. While he's obviously still in that honeymoon fog of horny disorientation. It should be easy to keep him distracted, to keep an eye on him. Just in case.  
"To marriage, and to 'Matt' and Mags!" toasts Steve, unexpectedly, raising his beer bottle and standing up, "now lets get that barbecue on before it chucks down!"  
"Here here" the others cry, laughing   
"Alright someone give us a hand with these briquettes" says Dot, grabbing one end of an unnecessarily large orange and white sack that shifts with a tinkling clink of charcoal pieces sliding together.  
Steve laughs, “Think you’ve got enough?”  
“Alright — they were on offer.”  
Kate has slid open the doors and is examining the setup,  
“Is that grill full of rain water?? Dot!”  
“Oh hush. Bit of lighter fluid n it'll go up lovely, you wait and see.“

—

When Maggie gets home, Hastings has left, Kate is asleep on the living room sofa, a blanket draped over her and a half empty glass of white wine beside her on the floor, and the patio doors are open. Steve and Dot have cracked open the whiskey but the bottle is still two thirds full. She's not exactly sober herself.   
"Oh here you are boys!" she croons, slightly unsteadily, leaning on the arm of his solid wicker box chair as Dot puts his hand on the small of her back.  
"How was your evening angel?" He asks, looking up at her, rapt. She giggles, her mood animated,  
"Fun.. but! Helen was nearly sick in the cab back. Since she had the twins, well! Cheap date!" she gestures expansively with one ringed hand, as if to say what can you do, and laughs again, a surprisingly high tinkling laugh for someone so huskily voiced. "He pulled over next to a roundabout — the road was completely empty you know — and just in the nick of time. And to think: she's a high court judge!"  
They all start to laugh, and Steve quotes, “Now look here my cousin's a QC" and that sets them off again, doing the rest of the scene, in the wrong order: “Geddinthebackofthenvan!” from Dot and Mags following up with "I assure you officer I've only had a few ales”, the Withnail accent sounding much more at home in her mouth than it had in Steve's.   
Pulling her down onto his lap Dot intones "Scrubbers! They love it the little tarts.." putting far more of a flirtatious slant on it than the original catcall could possibly muster.  
"Oh Matt don't be silly!" she cries, laughing but pantomiming being cross, "I'm far too heavy, let me up"  
"Don't be daft, you're not. You get on there." he murmurs and Steve senses a thickening in the atmosphere. And probably in Dot's trousers too, he thinks with an internal wry grimace.  
"Come on, we've got guests!" Mags chides, but her heart clearly isn't in it.  
"Don't mind me!" he says cheerfully, raising his glass in a gesture of encouragement.   
"Well you're lucky your friends are so accommodating" she laughs softly to Dot as after some unconvincing struggling she accepts his arms around her waist. He rests his head on her shoulder, holding her close, idly playing with the string of glittering faceted beads that hangs part way down her back, some kind of extra bit to the main necklace. It makes Steve think of a leash and he decides he should stop thinking anything along those lines to be honest. Maggie has taken the whiskey tumbler from Dot’s other hand in front of her and drinks the final sip, flicking her tongue round the last drips on the side of the glass in a way that clearly had her somewhat drunk husband transfixed. Catching Steve's by now slightly nervous eye (dear god I could do without having to watch the office bastard dry humping his posh floozie of a wife in front of me) she breaks the atmosphere by asking brightly,  
“Well tell me about all the fun I missed!"  
It's clear from Dot's face he's preoccupied instead with the fun he would like to be having, so Steve starts, a little bit forced in his levity,  
"Well we incinerated some lumps of meat" - he gestures towards the cold remains of the barbecue - "which with enough ketchup and processed cheese were largely edible. We played jenga. And at one point we almost persuaded Hastings to have a good time!" Dot laughs, shaking Mags up and down a little, and adds,  
“He was absolutely useless at charades. I’m not sure he’s even seen a film. Like, any film. Ever. I was looking up that bit in Die Hard, with the - you know the bit, honestly who the fuck hasn’t seen Die Hard? Anyway.. oh yeah, so then we were looking at clips and found some karaoke videos, on Youtube like —”  
"Kate did a blinder with Uptown Girl!" interrupted Steve.  
“Errr, I think you mean I knocked everyone's socks off with Elvis. Do they do oscars for karaoke?“  
“You wish. I don't think my ears - or eyes- will ever recover!"  
"And then old Ted pushed off home, too much jollity for him, so we told mean jokes about his hairpiece til Kate conked out and now here we are."  
"Fascinating exploits!" Maggie says with mock solemnity. “I’m sad I missed karaoke” she pouts exaggeratedly, clearly joking.  
They all end up talking over one another, in classic end of the evening style,  
“You should see her —”  
“Well I did —”  
“Tell her what —”  
“Ok, ok. Shh. Matt, what Elvis did you sing?”   
“A Little Less Conversation”   
“A Little More Action?” she sings back, and he laughs happily, eyes crinkling, holding her tighter.  
“Well you know me.. ” he starts.She interrupts him with a tolerant impatience, holding his mouth shut. He snaps at her fingers in jest but lets her have the floor,  
“Yes, it’s certainly a corker darling. But now, no, let go. Now if you boys will excuse me —” she gave a neat, surprisingly elegant little yawn, like a cat’s, right on cue " — I think I'll be getting off to bed now."  
"Yeah, I think I'll come up too." said Dot very quickly, his voice deadpan but with barely even an attempt at nonchalance.  
Like a rat up a drainpipe, thought Steve, and smiled. Still it was kind of sweet. They did seem happy together. And maybe he'd be less insufferable at work now..  
“Well in that case I suppose I'll be heading off then! I'll call a cab. Should try and get Kate home too really."  
"She looked out for the count to me, poor love." said Maggie  
"Well we'll see if we can wake her, but she'll come to no harm on the sofa if not." replied Dot. Maggie clambered off him and tottered towards the doors on her sharp little kitten heels, then turned, one hip jutting towards them, and murmured in her soft low muscovado sugar voice, "Don't keep me waiting too long", before swaying away.   
Dot couldn't help the little leap inside him, his mouth suddenly dry, and even Steve was surprised and taken aback by the pang in his heart, the sudden stab of loneliness and envy. No-one whispered a command like that to him in the half dark of a wound-down house party. No-one would be waiting for him in his bed, eyes shining, eager and soft and gently laughing a low sweet welcome. 

He sighed as they blew out the citronella candles and brought in the whiskey, Dot closing the sliding doors behind them.  
"Call us a cab will you mate, I've not got a number for round here" said Steve, as he gently shook Kate to try and wake her.  
"Hang on I've got a card somewhere. What's your postcode?" called Dot from the hall. Shouting it through Steve shook her shoulder again,  
"Wakey wakey Katey! Upsy Daisy. Time to get you home!" he said in a loud sing-song. She mumbled something and pulled the blanket tighter around her.  
"Five minutes he said!" announced Dot, coming back in. "I'll go get her a glass of water."  
"Come on Katey-pie time to get you home to bed." Steve crooned jokily.  
"Leemelone" she muttered, putting her arms around her head "dun wunna go... amina bed.. SLEEPING" she mumbled semi intelligibly but with considerable conviction. Dot put down the water next to her, then, picking up the half finished wine went back into the kitchen and returned with a washing up bowl,  
"Just in case she's not well in the night."  
"Shouldn't I try getting her up again?"  
"I wouldn't worry mate. She'll be fine there. It's a comfy sofa. I should know, I've slept on it enough times when I've been in the doghouse! And Mags does a cracking fry up. Come tomorrow you'll be sorry you didn’t stay as well."   
Steve laughed politely and sat on the end of Kate's sofa to wait. Dot sat down on the other sofa, hands on his knees, repeatedly glancing up at the staircase. It was obvious he was anxious to get upstairs to his wife.   
There could have been a time when Steve might not have felt quite comfortable leaving Kate alone with Dot. He'd definitely caught a hint of a funny vibe between them from time to time - funnier even than Dot had with most people, the cryptic fuck. He wondered if he'd ever tried it on with her. He wondered if he might even have succeeded. Was she into that? Surely not. But there’d been something there. But now, it had been a very vibe free evening in that respect. And with Maggie in the house - and Dot so obviously besotted, only with eyes for her. And let's face it, it wouldn't be the first - or the last - time any of them had slept in their clothes.   
He glanced up at Dot, who was jiggling his leg, absent-mindedly fiddling with the trim on the sofa cushion, clearly impatient to be with Maggie. They seemed to have run out of things to say, so after a couple of token digs at their boss simply lapsed into a mildly uncomfortable silence. So when the ring back came for the taxi he just arranged Kate's blanket over her feet and shook Dot's hand, thanking him for a great night. Hustling him out the door Dot was off up the stairs like a shot, taking them two at a time. Closing the door softly behind him he stood for a moment drinking in the sight of her. He could feel his skin prickle as Mags' bright avid eyes raked up his long body and met his. Her bedside lamp was on low, making a soft halo around her blonde hair, illuminating her face, her throat, her big breasts, bared to him as she sat up in bed. She whispered "You took your time. I thought you were never coming. I thought.. I.. was never.. coming."  
"Oh Mags" was all he could manage to say, his voice, his body, filled with a hot urgent ache. She had been away too long. It was always too long.   
"Come here and show me different" she said, pulling back the covers. His breath ragged he kisses her body, buries his face against it, oh Maggie, oh, Maggie, my little magpie; you angel; you beautiful thing..   
"Oh I'll show you something alright" he panted, hoarse and eager, kissing her waist, her hips, open mouthed; dragging his fingers, and then his face, down her belly, easing himself lower, pushing her legs apart with his big bony hands.

—

Something woke Kate up, and she didn't know what it was or where she was at first. Her mouth was dry and stuck together and tasted like hell, and her head felt parched and sticky and grainy, like an unswept floor on a humid day. There was a thick quiet as if whatever had roused her had just that second stopped, before she was fully awake. She was just trying to reassemble where she was when the sound came again, that she realised had been what had woken her before. A cry, high and heartfelt and desperate. And then another. Again. Rhythmic. Getting faster. It rose to a crescendo and stopped, and as the silence spread and pooled she groggily rolled over and slipped back into sleep, dimly aware of a sensual frisson as unconsciousness swallowed her up again.  
Her dreams were jumbled, fragmentary, a hotchpotch kaleidoscope of unsettling imagery and sensations. She was aware of a restless, ticklish feeling moving within her, like something plucking the strings of an instrument. She was tangled in sheets, looking for something, she was, in the dark on her hands and knees. And suddenly he was behind her, inside her - she couldn’t see him but she knew it was him, Dot - holding her down, holding her onto him as she bucked her hips. A shuddering heat was spreading through her. It seemed to grow and intensify the more she struggled. She was outside her body now. Watching him. He had beads of liquid on his face, and his lips were wet and stained with something dark; the tip of his tongue flicked out for a split second, and for some reason it was bright green. He was flickering like celluloid, like a ghost. He was laughing at her. Arcing in sudden sharp pleasure she woke again with a jolt and heard the same high desperate cry as before.  
It felt as though some time had passed since then. And this time, as well as that solitary haunting, wavering cry, she could hear a rhythmic thudding in time with it. And now, as she listened, still and alert, she thought she could make out a sort of growling groan, a deeper cry, in time with the thuds. Before she had even consciously realised what it was she could already feel her breath had quickened, already feel herself grown wet, could already feel an ache between her legs. And in a rush it all came back to her. Dot. His wife. Her confused dream. And, oh god. The Dot she knew, her secret version of him. The things he had really done to her, before.   
As she heard the muffled bang of what must be the bed again and Mags cry out and Dot's deep low groan, the memory solidified of his hands on her, in her; of his unhurried dirty whispers in her ear, of his - oh - of his cock, oh, of the heat and throb and thrust of it inside her. Of the ways he made her shake, made her cry out, like this.  
She's as horny as she is hungover now, and if anything the hangover is only intensifying it. As if her whole body is on high alert, jangling alarms, too loud: every sensation as shattering as a wild cry in a silent house.  
Listening to Dot fuck his wife, absolutely fucking nail her, in the ringing quiet of the empty house, Kate can't help herself, she has to slide her hand beneath the blanket, inside her skirt, her tights and knickers. Gasping and shoving her other hand over her mouth, she hopes he never knows what he - what the sounds of Mags getting what she's not off of him - drove her to. But even as the thought crossed her mind it blooms barbed hooks of desire, tugging her onwards, pulling her forward: of him catching her, of his smug, crass, cruel mockery of her, his sensual degradation of her, if he knew, oh fuck, oh fuck Dot, what would you say if you knew, oh, god, Dot - look what you made me - oh look what you made go and do.

—

In the morning when she wakes up, Kate becomes aware, slowly, like rising up from a very deep pit, that she can hear someone moving about in — well she’s gotta assume from the banging of cupboard doors and the rattling of crockery it’s the kitchen? Moving somewhere that has far too much fucking rattling going on anyway, that’s for sure. Gingerly moving her head, she is relieved to find that it feels a only moderately like a nightmare hurricane blew through it. Could be worse.  
As she is assessing the damage Dot comes in with a cup of tea in his hands. In a mug with a bright colourful design of - of all things - a cartoon penguin going down a slide.  
The sight of him brings it all back, a sudden humiliating flood. Last night. What she heard. What she - oh god. What she did. She thanks god the pained look that crosses her face involuntarily can only naturally be misinterpreted.  
"You alright?" He asks, dipping smoothly to one knee to set it down on the floor next to her, and his long pointed face looking up at her, the flash in her eyes of his gaze meeting hers, of the motion of his lashes. It's barely a moment and yet it lays into her like a punch. There’s a weird intimacy to seeing him first thing in the morning. She has a strange feeling of loss, like a thought you forget just as it’s on the tip of your tongue. It’s like something jerked out of her hand just as she went to take hold of it: this is what it could have been like, on our morning after the night before.  
“How’s your head?” he prods, sounding slightly sympathetic but mostly amused.  
She mumbles something like, “So-so I suppose”, but her mind is hardly on it.  
He's in a black vest and navy marl tracksuit bottoms and she tries to look casually at him, as if he's just anyone, just part of the furniture, but, the angle of his thigh, aimed towards her. And those broad bony shoulders, christ. The view of his collar bones, his musculature, his biceps. There’s nowhere she can rest her eye for a moment that isn’t an endurance test. And to think, he never even took his shirt off, that time they.. when he..   
She could have looked all she wanted then. If he’d’ve let her.  
And his hair. She's never seen his hair loose, not neatly brushed and slicked to one side, before. Now, still damp from the shower, it hangs over his forehead, a slight flick of a curl to it. It makes him look younger, more androgynous - prettier even. She know’s it’s completely ridiculous but she wants to touch it, to brush it out of his face. He’s close enough she could take his face in her hands, and —  
"I'm just taking one up to Mags" he interrupted her thoughts "She'll be down to make us a fry up in a bit, she knows her way around a pan I'll tell you - not like me! Steve's missed out going home."  
Nausea nips at her at the thought of eating that - not to mention at the evident affection with which he says it. She grimaces. But no reply appears to be needed; he is already turning away. It is then, as he turns to gather the other cups of tea and climb the stairs, that she notices a set of raised red marks on his shoulder, just the edge of them revealed by the cut of the vest. A sinking kick in her chest as she realises: Maggie's nails. Oh Dot. Oh honestly. You absolute tart. A rush of misery and hilarity at once. She wants to laugh. She wants to tell someone. Dead Deidre I fucked a married man and then I had to sleep at his house and hear him make his wife come over and over again and when he made me a cup of tea in the morning his back was all scratched up like she was a jackal. He can't be oblivious can he? Is he sending her a message or what? Or thinks he's being so subtle? Or just genuinely doesn't care. He always seemed the sort to toy with people. She just can't work him out right now. Maybe he genuinely thinks I slept through it. A blush rises in her thinking what she did instead.  
Oh it's just ridiculous. It's like something out of a soap. Or worse.  
If she can say it in a way that doesn't give herself away she'll tell Steve about this. The way his eyebrows had shot up at their smart arse laconic unpopular colleague mooning over his cartoonish sex kitten of a wife. He'll find it hilarious. Especially after the laugh Dot's had at his expense, getting caught on the job on the job. Suddenly all at once she remembers: karaoke. Why in the hell did she do Uptown Girl! Oh god. It can't have looked like anything else but a dig. She's amazed Steve didn't make a thing of it at the time. Oh don’t be daft no-one else even thinks of you two that way. You might as well be a separate species. She could use it as a way in though, a starting point for her and Steve laughing it up about him.  
Even just thinking of being able to speak about it, however coded, however pretending not to care, makes her feel a little better.

—

Maggie is nestled in the soft eiderdown when Dot pushes open the door with his socked foot, carrying in the tea. He puts them on her bedside table before coming round to his side of the bed, climbing in beside her and pulling up his vest to press his bare stomach and chest to her back, squeezing her soft flesh in his long slender hands, kissing her ear and laughing as she giggles and squirms against him. She turns to him, pressing her breasts to his body, kissing a mole on his shoulder, kissing his neck, his throat, his sharp collarbones, the beauty mark below his eye, and finally the scar that runs alongside it, tracing it with her fingertip down the side of his face.   
"I've missed you, you big bony beautiful bastard" she sighs.  
"I was hardly gone a minute" he whispers, a grin playing about his lips.  
"Not just then, silly. I meant before. While we were apart."  
"I know you did cream puff."  
She buries her face in his shoulder.   
"I missed this" she purrs, pressing her naked body to him, rubbing herself against him.  
His tone becomes more arch, more teasingly cruel.  
“Oh I know you did.." he whispers   
He thinks, you always do..  
He has one arm beneath her already, holding her close, palm warm against her, fingers squeezing greedily at her flesh. Now he slides his other hand down her side in a long slow stroke, lightening to a caress as it passes her hip, a fingertip alone as it reaches her thigh, watching her face, watching her eyelids flutter, her breath quicken  
"Oh Matt"  
"Yes?"  
He wrinkled his nose, teasing her with the lightest of touches.  
"Oh please.."  
"Say it"  
"Matt.."  
"It's not like you to go all coy.."  
"Just a quick one, please? Just your fingers even? Please Matt, I need it."  
"You bad girl. You’re right it’ll have to be quick. It’ll have to be quieter than you were last night and all, you nearly brought the house down."  
"It's not my fault you make me come so hard"  
His breath snags, "Oh go on then come here"  
Gently, softly pushing her open, his breathing getting rough as he feels the wet of her.  
And then she gets her hand inside his waistband, her palm clasped to the soft hot slick satin-sticky head of his cock in her hand. She hears him gasp, feels him shudder against her, feels the lurch of his adams apple in his throat as its pressed to her shoulder. His fingers quicken against her, inside her, oh god, she's clenching and bucking against him, gritting her teeth, but she starts to - uhh, god - she starts to moan  
"Shhh shhh ... ohh, steady now" he whispers but he doesn't stop he doesn't slow down, his lips twisting into a vindictive smirk as he feels it start to catch in her  
She is thrusting herself against him now, her hand in his trousers faster, and he has to struggle to keep quiet himself,  
and then she loses her focus, her grip on him as -  
oh, god, she  
the wet of her, it's gushing out, and she -  
gasping, shaking, wanting, needing to, unable to scream, to cry out, suddenly she bites him - hard - right over one collar bone, hanging on for dear life; his sharp intake of breath, of pleasure and pain at once, feeling it arc through her, her whole body tightening rigid with a spasm before going limp. He is panting but grinning too as finally she releases him from her bite.  
"Oh you little bitch!" he gasps, shocked and amused and aroused all at the same time. He touches his fingers gingerly to the livid quite blatantly clear mark and winces, "Look what you've gone and done to me." He bites his lip in sensual contemplation of it, the heat that is blooming in it, whispering deep and soft, "Oh Maggie. You dirty little bitch you just can't help yourself can you.."  
Her eyes flick open and she's smiling up at him, almost demure, her face flushed but composed.  
Her hand is back around his cock and he closes his eyes.   
But he won't give in without a fight, feeling her, sopping, swollen, open, gorgeous in his hand, tugging that slippery bead between his fingers, rubbing it faster and faster, clutching her to him,   
this time he presses his hand over her mouth, and she bites it, bites it, sucks at it, as it smothers her desperate cries and he buries his own in the pillow as she milks it roughly out of him, shuddering and panting, gasping for breath, eyes rolling back in his head, slippery come making such a mess, all over them both.   
His breath is shaky, his spine still trembling, as he holds her tight and whispers "Oh fucking christ Maggie."  
She smiles lazily, hazily up at him and strokes his face with her fingertips.   
"I don't know what you fucking do to me. Even now, even, when you've just this second made me spunk my whole load all over myself.. come myself completely dry - all I want to do in the entire world is fuck you, again and again."  
"Well you can't can you darling.” She smirks “I believe we still have a guest?"  
He starts to laugh "Oh now you remember! Poor old Kate. She seemed pretty out of it when I made her a cup of tea -" he glances at his watch "- Fuck, ages ago. I hope she's gone back to sleep."  
Rolling over to drink her now lukewarm tea, feeling his spunk running down her thighs, Maggie smiles to herself. She passes him his cup, interrupting as he gingerly tries to clean himself up on the bedsheet, tutting at him,  
”Ugh, you dirty little so and so"  
"Oh come on - these'll be for the wash straight away anyway. State we've got them in."  
"You've certainly had me in a state" she murmurs, kissing him.  
"Don't I know it!" he laughs, placing her hand over the bite mark she's left on him. She bites her lip and looks into his eyes,  
"Yes sorry about that darling..”  
His own are sparkling with mischief. "Marking your territory were you?"  
He turns to put his cup down, to have both hands free for her and she gasps, bursting out laughing  
"If you think that's bad you should see the state of your back!”  
"Eh?!" he leaps out of bed, genuinely surprised, and turns around in front of the mirror. Reaching behind him, twitching the vest to one side to get a better look he starts laughing too, exasperated, embarrassed, yet on some level delighted.  
"Fucks sakes girl you could've told me before I went downstairs in just a goddamn vest! Now it'll be all round work we're animal trash at this rate!"  
"Well they wont be too far off the mark will they?" she drawls as he comes back to the bed, dragging her fingers down his chest, gently, teasingly.  
"Not too far off these marks" she kisses the livid bite, stroking his back where it's scratched up. "As if you wont enjoy all the girls at work thinking you're such an animal, all the lads, knowing you really know how to make a woman really.. lose control"  
He swallows, eyes dark and burning. "I swear to god Maggie" is all he can manage "it's a fucking miracle there's even a minute a day I'm not inside you."


End file.
